Unchained
by littleblue-eyedbird
Summary: In 9:21 Dragon, Clan Lavellan was attacked by an overwhelming force of Slavers. A bloody battle for survival raged but the elves lost. The survivors and children were ripped from their aravels and sold into slavery-dispersed across the Imperium. Twenty years later, one of the only remaining member of Clan Lavellan dared to break free from her Master and reached out to an old friend
1. Prologue

Solas glided through the deserted halls of Skyhold, seeking out the quiet calmness that could only be found in the rotunda in the early hours before dawn. Though he loathed to wake so early and squander precious moments out of the fade and away from Wisdom's counsel, he needed to be able to discreetly see to his duties as Fen'Harel within the waking realm-and sunrise was the most secluded hour he could work without interruption.

The fortress itself was still asleep at this time, there were no scouts bustling through the rookery, no curious minds perusing the texts found on the second floor of the library—no lurking Dorian hovering twenty feet above his head, tossing witty insults with books over the railing at him to attempt and instigate some of debate. Even the ravens perched at the highest level were at peace while their dreaming minds wandered elsewhere.

A small, frail beam of light drifted down from the east window on the third floor, illuminating a small section on Solas' desk as he crossed to it, highlighting a new addition left for him by one of his agents. Tucked inside the cover of an unassuming tome was a missive- intercepted before it reached the hands of Leliana, or so he thought. Solas skimmed the script found on the parchment and realized it did not belong to the Inquisition. Not when the script was written in Qunlat.

Qunlat meant the Qunari finally had established themselves within the Inquisition, aside from The Iron Bull of course. It was only a matter of time. Solas wondered if Bull was aware, or if he had any part in setting up the spies within Skyhold-a matter to resolve later on his own. But at this moment, this revelation was not surprising but it was mildly concerning. Solas made a mental note to have his agents root out his competition and infiltrate their ranks as well. He couldn't have Qunari spies stealing missives from him—or intercepting his own. And keeping the Qunari in the dark for as long as possible would ultimately be more beneficial for his end game, as well as the Inquisition's.

He opened the drawers in his desk and withdrew of set phoenix quills and container of ink. Dipping the tip of one of them into the glass jar, he began to translate the missive in Elvhen with an elegant scrawl that stood out beneath the harsh marks of the Qunlat.

His handwriting faltered as he jumped at the sound of the rotunda door clashing violently against stone, the sound ricocheting in an endless wave against the circular walls of the keep.

"Solas!" Dorian's voice cried out, "Solas, oh thank the Maker you're up!"

Solas immediately slammed the tome shut, hiding his half translated note between the pages of Brother Genitivi's research on the Fourth Blight-wet ink and all. He whipped around hastily to glare at Dorian, but his anger softened at the sight of his companion.

Dorian looked like he had been dragged through the pits of the void and spat out again. He was a disheveled mess from the tips of bed ridden hair down to his wrinkled night clothes he was still dressed in, not the mention the absolutely horrified look on his blanching face.

Solas immediately straightened and stood, taking a few steps towards Dorian and away from the contraband on his desk.

"I need your help, it is a matter of _life_ and _death_! Oh don't look at me like that." Dorian exclaimed brushing limp strands of hair out of his tired eyes.

Solas continued his pointed stare.

"This is serious!"

"Allow to me guess. The Inquisitor has requested your presence on a trip to the Fallow Mire and you do not want to risk Vivienne's ire by waking her this early to ask her to take your place."

"Ha, no! As if Vivienne would go even if requested. I would have just asked Trevelyan to take you instead if that were the case. But that is beside the point!"

Solas rolled his eyes and made to turn away from Dorian but Dorian caught his elbow, pulling him back around.

"I'm being serious." His tone dropped low. "One of my dear friends in grave danger. She's fleeing Tevinter."

Solas scoffed.

"And why should I take an interest in this acquaintance of yours? Would you not ask someone who has more connections and political power to procure her safety, such as the Inquisitor? The two of you have become close, I can hardly imagine him denying you a favor."

Solas couldn't think of a logical reason as to why Dorian would turn to him, of all people. From an outsider's perspective, he was a humble (yet arrogant depending on who you asked) nomadic apostate with a penchant for knowledge. His interests were limited, and helping a Tevinter Noble run from her homeland was not among them.

Dorian ran his hands through his mussed hair, exasperatedly.

"He's leaving for Val Royeaux to settle some Templar related dispute this morning with his advisors and subsequent entourage. He wished for me to accompany him but I told him _this_ was more important than impressing _Orlesians_."

"Ah. How commendable of you. But still, why seek out my assistance? Why should the affairs of this Tevinter woman concern me?"

"For starters, this woman is an elven slave-"

Solas stilled.

"-And an extremely valuable one at that. The Magister to which she belongs…belonged to will stop at nothing to bring her back to the Imperium. He sending a small army of slavers to catch her, and there is only so much running she can do alone against a force that size. She is afraid, in a foreign land, with no personal affects, no allies."

Solas felt a long forgotten flame ignite something within him, an ancient anger he had thought to have buried by guilt. It began to uncoil, small tendrils reaching every nerve ending in his spine with each word Dorian spoke.

This struggle was one he all too familiar with, and needless to say Dorian had his full attention.

"What makes her so valuable that a Magister would expend this many resources on one woman?" Solas inquired.

"She's a mage…"

Dorian paused, locking eyes with Solas whose widened in shock.

"And not just any mage…she's a _somniari_."


	2. A Promise Kept

Her eyes fluttered open the moment Dorian dissipated into the waking world from the dream she had reached out to him in. Hearing his voice again had been such a relief, his charming timbre was such a welcoming sound. He vehemently reassured her that she had made the right decision—to flee Tevinter and run South-but she couldn't quite shake the clutches of fear that had embedded themselves in her heart. She had not told him everything...keeping a massive part of her escape privy to only her and the man sleeping restlessly beside her.

She had told Dorian she had fled alone, but that was a lie. She would have never been able to make it past the Antonius Estate's outer walls without help. And it just so happened the man who helped her, needed her in return. More so than she needed him. She swallowed her guilt, Dorian would surely forgive her for this omitting his presence—it would have only complicated matters further. Instead, she replayed his promise over and over in her mind like a mantra.

 _I will meet you in Nevarra._

He was coming to help. He would know what to do.

He _had_ to.

If anyone would be able to help her, or figure out a way to help her out of their predicament, it would be Dorian Pavus.

She shifted into a sitting position in the bed, hissing as her chains rattled softly while she repositioned her body. She groaned when the shackles around her wrists and ankles rubbed the already raw and scabbed skin underneath, threatening to stain the rough fabric of the bed sheets she had lain upon with blood. She could tell the cuff around her neck had broken the surface of her skin in her sleep by the tiny trickle of liquid she could feel running down her chest. She would have to ask Regulus to heal her again when he awakened.

She ran her fingers over the golden links that spanned between the shackles on her wrists. The length of it was just shy of being three feet long, ensuring that she had just enough mobility to complete her tasks as a servant but limit her if she tried to lash out. A matching link spanned between the manacles around her ankles.

She gently tugged at both sets, as she did every time she woke, in the vain hope that just maybe this time they would give under pressure and break apart. It was a useless attempt—they were bound by magic to never shatter or break. These chains bound her magic as well as her limbs, leaving her effectively powerless in the waking world. She could not cast or draw upon her mana without inflicting excruciating pain—upon igniting her aura the shackles would constrict around her wrists, ankles, and neck and emit a nullification pulse, rendering her utterly incapacitated for a few minutes.

" _Leave me alone_."

She stopped her inspection at the pained sound of his voice.

She glanced beside he to find his brows furrowed in his sleep, eyes racing behind their lids manically. She immediately reached out and brushed away strands of loose, black curls that were matted to his forehead.

"Regulus."

He didn't respond to her touch, or her voice.

" _I won't let you."_

"Regulus, please wake up." She tried again, panic seeping into her tone, moving her hand from his face down onto his shoulder and giving him a firm shake.

" _No, no…please.._."

Her heart rate picked up. He had always been prone to nightmares, but they had gotten progressively worse since…the incident. It had gotten to the point if she wasn't there in the fade with him to guide his dreams, they often turned violent and horrifying. So much so he would wake up screaming in a terrorized state.

But she had only left him alone for a few moments to contact Dorian privately. She had even erected a peaceful dream for Regulus to wake up from…surely it had not twisted into something sinister so quickly in those few spare moments she was missing from it? She swallowed thickly and steeled the nerves in her gut threatening to challenge stomach. His condition was getting worse.

" _No...no…get out of my head!"_ He cried out, now thrashing in the sheets.

She scrambled to hover over him, pinning both his shoulders down onto the bed and wake him up. The veins beneath his skin began to glow, a vile, poisonous color. Lines of luminescent light began to radiate out from shut eyes, spreading out towards his temples and down his jaw, dipping into some of the veins in his neck. He looked almost as if he were made of glass that had begun to fracture.

" _GET OUT."_

"REGULUS!"

She was yelling at his point, her hands clenching into him so hard it would most definitely bruise.

Suddenly, he bolted upright knocking her back on the bed. She arms were thrown and pinned back forcefully by his hands, her cuffs biting into her skin, as his he kept her down with his weight. She let out a strangled cry when he bent down, his face was but a breath away from her own. His nose brushed hers slightly as she froze underneath him, heart pounding in her ears. His eyes were illuminated with swirling tendrils of bright purple and black, his pupils pulsating like the rest of him. His mouth was parted in a feral grimace as he struggled to catch his breath.

" _Corculum_." She pleaded, searching his face for a glimpse of the man she knew.

His eyes ceased their eerie glow at her endearment, snapping him out of his state. His iris slowly settled back into the deep indigo she was often got lost in. The sparks of violet light that had coursed through his veins receded slowly until they were nothing but a dull pulse, barely discernible despite the pallor of his skin yet visible enough to be seen faintly beating in time with his heart. It left him looking sickly, and haunted.

His expression twisted into one of horror as the realization of what he had done dawned on him. He flew back in seconds, slamming the back of his head so hard against the wall in his haste to move away from her.

She scrambled over to him, chains rattling as she settled between his legs and cradled his head between her hands.

He flinched when she made contact, but didn't pull away.

" _Ellana,_ forgive me." He rasped weakly and slumped forward, resting his forehead against hers.

She pursed her lips at the use of her slave name, but pushed the resentment away like she always did. Regulus knew her by nothing else and that was not his fault. She had never shared her birth name, her elven name, wanting to keep that secret for herself—her logic being Tevinter could never tarnish that part of her if she never gave it away in the first place. It was a childish notion that she clung to—but then again she had been nine when she made that decision. She stuck with it ever since.

There would be a right time and safe place to correct him, but it clearly was not now.

"It's okay, you are okay." She said softly, rubbing her thumbs over his cheekbones, "You're awake."

"It's getting harder to fight." His voice was barely more than hoarse whisper.

"But you _are_ still fighting. We'll find a way—"

"Your promise-did you keep it?" He asked, cutting her off.

"Mhm. I did not mention your presence to Dorian." She assured him. He was trembling beneath her fingers.

"Thank you…You can't tell him. Not yet."

"He would want to help. He would do anything to help."

Regulus gave no response, but the silence was telling all the same.

"...you are ashamed." She said not accusingly.

"Incredibly so. It's so…ironic." He laughed bitterly, and then promptly winced—as if it pained him to even give the slightest of chuckles.

"He would understand."

He shook his head sharply. "No. I can't risk jeopardizing your freedom. What if he decided it was not worth the risk to get you because of what I—"

He gasped and retched himself away from her while grasping at his chest, trying his hardest not to cry out as harsh tremors wracked through his body.

She followed his movement anyway, holding him until the fit came to pass.

"-because of me." He finished brokenly after he regained some semblance of breath.

"You are the closest thing he has to family. He would never reject you." She reached for his hand.

"You say that now." He mumbled, hesitating before taking hers into his own.

She gave him a hard look.

"And I'll say that later. You _know_ Dorian."

He shook his head dejectedly, and she decided to let it drop. He needed to hear Dorian say it if he was to believe it. And she could not offer him that piece of mind. Instead, she repeated what Dorian had set to her in the dream.

"Nevarra? Did he mention which city?" Regulus inquired.

"Perendale."

To be honest, she had no idea where Perendale was, but saw recognition flit across Regulus' face.

"Ah, drat. The stolen Orlesian city."

She arched a brow. "Is its history that concerning, or is it something else?"

He gave a small smile and it did wonders to brighten his face. He was slowly becoming more like himself, and less like the nightmare he had so violently awoke from.

"No, I was just hoping Dorian would have said the Capitol. I've always wanted to visit the Grand Necropolis. Maybe we can make a visit on the way." He sighed wistfully, but continued his rant, "Perendale does have an interesting backstory though. Nevarra stole the city from Orlais when the Orlesians were distracted by their war with Ferelden in the Blessed Age. The Orlesians still haven't forgiven the Pentaghasts for that."

"The Pentaghasts?" She asked, curiosity piqued.

"Ruling family of Nevarra, related distantly somehow to nearly everyone in Thedas. Irrelevant." He said sarcastically with a flick of his hand.

She rolled her eyes and let out a lilting laugh. Regulus _loved_ politics, whether it be debating them or going off on historical tangents about the events surrounding them; his elegant charm and sharp wit won even the most difficult and stubborn minds over, though he was not nearly as dramatic in his mannerisms as Dorian. He would have been an extremely powerful and influential Magister—the kind with means and heart to possibly bring about change in the Magisterium- had he not sacrificed it all to run away with her. It was something she deeply admired about him, but also felt immense guilt over.

With that she stood from the bed, pulling him up to stand with her; her chains clattering loudly as they hit the hardwood floor.

He grimaced again as he took in the sight of her bindings splayed out on the ground. He was about to speak when he lifted his head, but she held a finger to his lips.

"Don't. You have apologized far too much already for an act you did not commit."

He gently pried her hand away from his mouth and turned her wrist over in his hand.

"Guilty by association. Until I have found a way to safely break those chains I will continue to apologize. Regardless if I cast the binding spell or not."

A wave of relief flooded her forearm as he pressed his mana into her skin around her manacles. He took his time healing all the newly opened wounds, numbing the pain and casting a small protective enchantment into her flesh. She felt his spell curl around her chafed throat and around her ankles, soothing the aches away with tender pulses. It wouldn't hold for long—the shackles would absorb the spell over time and rub away at her in a few hours. But it was a welcomed temporary relief.

" _Gratias_." She sighed, massaging her freshly healed wrists.

" _Nec acliuius pretti_."

He cast on last spell over her, a silencing charm to quiet the scraping and clashing of metal when she moved. They began to gather the meager belongings they had escaped with in silence. Regulus pulled the hood of black cloak around him as she adjusted her own, glancing around the small room they had shared for anything they might have missed.

Discreetly, thanks in most part to his spell, they exited their room and silently crept down the stairs. No one seemed to be up in the tavern quite yet; it was too early for the servants to even begin to contemplate what to serve for breakfast, let alone rise from their quarters. She paused at the base of the staircase, contemplating stealing away to the unguarded pantry for some provisions but thought better of it. Committing a petty crime was not how she intended to start her new life. She had already committed treason in one country—no need to start on that path in a new one.

Regulus turned back to watch the decision become evident on her face. She strode towards him, linking her fingers through his and gave him a sharp nod. Together they pushed heavy tavern door open, and slipped away into the dawn.


	3. A History Lesson

Solas' mouth went dry. The world seemed to come to jarring standstill around him as he processed Dorian's words. The rotunda was suddenly too loud and yet too quiet all at once, a deafening silence that beat in his ears in time with his heart.

Another elven dreamer.

 _Awake._

 _Like him_.

He chastised himself almost immediately for the fleeting thought. There were others, but they were locked away in an eternal slumber until the time came for him to wake them up. There was the slim possibility that by some chance somewhere, some of the ancients had woken up…but none would have been found in Tevinter.

This woman, this now ex-slave, would have been born into an age where it was highly improbable to have manifested that kind of innate power with such an intense connection to the fade. It was near impossible because of the actions he had taken all those thousands of years ago when he sealed the Fade behind the veil. If Dorian was telling the truth…

 _She could change everything_.

But that such a ridiculous notion—how could Dorian truly know? What if a demon had possessed her and granted her the ability to commune through dreams and weave the fabric of the fade? A possibility, a stretch perhaps...more believable than a dreamer born of this world.

To hear of someone from this era having such a strong affiliation with the Fade, and having the ability to reconstruct its very essence like himself…could there be more to this woman than Dorian is letting on? Or that he even was aware of?

The Tevinter's voice broke him from his reverie.

"She reached out to me last night with such…urgency. Something is wrong and she couldn't tell me, or wouldn't tell me," Dorian ran a hand through his mussed hair distractedly, worriedly, "She wants to meet in person and explain. I could tell something has her spooked. She normally doesn't behave like this, she's usually so composed. It was obvious she was worried about…something…I think something is haunting her," Dorian massaged his head for a few more seconds before whisking his hand away in a flourishing gesture, "Regardless, she needs help and I just knew when I woke up I had to go to you. You're a somniari, you would know what to do."

Solas was flattered, but he couldn't quite bask in it, not with Dorian's concerns about his friend being plagued by some mysterious presence. It only supported his speculations of her being possessed.

"Whatever is haunting her must be drawn in by her power. The ability to walk the fade as I do is exceedingly rare by my research. There have been so few documented dreamers in recent history. I am hesitant to label her a dreamer when there could be other factors at play." He said, letting some of his skepticism seep into his voice.

"Oh she is most _definitely_ a somniari." Dorian laughed, eyes crinkling at the edges as he spoke, "I am sure of it."

Solas suddenly had a hundred questions brewing inside him—how did an elven somniari end up a slave in Tevinter? How did Dorian meet her? Who was this woman exactly? What caused now her to flee?

"How can you be so certain? How do you know this woman?" He settled on asking.

"That is a long story. One I promise to explain on the way."

Solas quirked a brow, "On the way?"

"I'm meeting her in Nevarra, Perendale to be exact. I promised I would find her as soon as I possibly could. Jacques—I mean Inquisitor Trevelyan, has granted me leave to rescue her and I am permitted to bring along whomever he is not requesting on his outing."

"This is surprisingly considerate of him."

"He's not entirely terrible all of the time."

"Mmh." Solas hummed, disbelievingly.

Inquisitor Jacques Trevelyan, descendant of the union between two well-known and wealthy families, one ruling from Antiva and the other from the Trevelyan Clan in the Free Marches, was a conniving son of a bitch and an arrogant ass, to put it simply—and Solas had developed quite a strong dislike for the man, and Trevelyan of him. Solas did not understand what Dorian saw in him—but that was not his place to judge his friend's interests, nor any of his concern. Nor should he be thinking of Dorian as his friend, he tried to remind himself. He was not achieving much success on that front.

The Inquisitor never went out of his way to do anything that did not benefit him, either directly or indirectly in some manner-so what would Trevelyan gain from acquiring an elven mage fleeing Tevinter? Bringing yet another apostate into the Inquisition-that Trevelyan was using to practically reconstruct a new Templar Order with himself at the forefront-made no logical sense. Only Dorian, Vivienne, and himself were granted amnesty from the Order because of their affiliation with the Inquisitor.

Though Solas was felt as though his was wearing thin with each passing dispute with Jacques.

"We're going to need to move fast. I don't know how close that slaver contingent is to catching up with her, and I would very much like to intercept her before they do. I was hoping you would accompany me, I am going to need your help." Dorian hedged, hopeful.

Solas shifted his weight as he contemplated the course of action he would take. There would be preparations he needed to make, things to consider, if he chose to embark on the journey.

He most certainly was _interested_ in going—that was undoubtedly not in question.

The duties he would neglect here in his absence would cost him precious time, and resources he could not afford to waste if he left. Especially if the woman in question turned out not to be worth the risk. It would take weeks to venture to Perendale alone, not including the time spent trying to locate her within the town _and then_ a few more weeks to travel back. Luckily, he could reach his agents and advise them through their dreams to carry out the tasks he would leave unattended, but he wouldn't be in Skyhold to oversee certain…peculiar matters he had not even shared amongst his most trusted agents in the fortress.

But he could not stem the tide of rebellious emotion storming within him at the mention of this woman fighting for her freedom. This situation stirred up ancient feelings—ones a younger version of himself would have borne proudly—but he thought he had all but extinguished all of them and replaced them with guilt. This young dreamer would need guidance, and without the proper training she would become a beacon for powerful demons—too tempting for corrupted spirits to resist. Or worse, in the hands of greedy, power lusting Magister….

Solas fought against the surge of anger that last thought evoked, clenching his fists at his side. He made up his mind.

"I will accompany you. But first, I would ask to hear more about this dreamer of yours."

Dorian gave a dramatic huff and shifted uncomfortably, "You will get one, I swear it, but please… let me get dressed. Like I said, it is a long story and I refuse to be caught in my nightclothes outside my chambers for a second longer."

Solas rolled his eyes, "Come."

With that he spun on his heel, gesturing for Dorian to follow him. He nonchalantly swiped the tome off his desk and tucked under his arm as he made his way towards the door that led out of the rotunda.

"Wait, where are we going? _People could see me!?"_

"Somewhere more private. You did not care that I saw you."

"Yes but, well, you're you. You hold no stock in appearances."

This was true, and he made no effort to deny it.

"There will be seldom few awake and traversing the corridors at this hour. My quarters are secluded, no one will see us, if you are so concerned."

" _Kaffas_ , I swear if anyone does I will burn every last hideous excuse of sweater you own hanging in your boudoir."

"I do not own a boudoir." Solas said without turning back to see Dorian's appalled expression.

"Where do you keep your clothes?!" Dorian questioned and moved to follow anyway.

As promised, they encountered no one on the way to the living quarters for the Inquisition agents in the West Wing of Skyhold. The higher ranking agents were given loftier rooms, and those who fell within the inner circle of the Herald were given the most accommodating quarters. Solas politely declined one of the more embellished rooms, seeking out a room he knew existed in the lower West Wing prior to arriving that would suit his needs.

After all, Skyhold had been his once.

By passing the main corridor in the West Wing, Solas kept going down the stairwell, and made an immediate left on the first landing. At the end of this smaller hallway stood an old ironbark door with a beautifully crafted tree spanning its entirely, a tribute to Mythal's honor. A personal touch of his.

With a flick of his wrist, he unsealed the wards he had set to protect his chambers, and his door swung open to let him in. The faint smell of the lingering rosewood incense he had been burning through the night as he slept wafted over his senses as he entered the room, reminiscent of a time when Arlathan still stood in all its glory, incense burning the pyres that lined the crystalline streets.

He made a beeline for his bed on his left, which was draped in soft fur pelts to make the mattress more agreeable. He quickly deposited his tome in the bedside drawer and lit the candles that littered his room on the way to his desk. He seated himself and began to collect all the missives on its surface. Dorian couldn't read elven, but regardless it made Solas feel more at ease to have them organized. He turned back to observe Dorian, whose mouth was slightly agape as he took in the chamber around him.

Solas' room had a high ceiling, on which the outlines of a new fresco had been sketched out. He couldn't quite seem to capture the image he wanted, frequently getting frustrated and returning to the rotunda to work on the public one when his inspiration ran out. His personal stash of art supplies was nestled along the right side of the room, an organized chaos, in front of a large elven styled tapestry depicting a beautiful dragon with its wings spread wide and breathing brilliant white flames into the sky.

What was hidden behind the tapestry was the true reason Solas selected this particular room as his own, for it was concealing a door that led into depths of the castle—a secret network of passageways that no one else knew about—save for himself and his agents of course.

Along the far side of the room, the side Dorian was most preoccupied with, were immense bookcases. The shelves were packed with rare tomes, exotic plants, ancient artifacts, and a copy of Hard in Hightown that Solas had yet to finish.

"I half expected your room to be dusty and dingy, but this is…." Dorian trailed off, crossing the room to where Solas was sitting whilst looking around, "actually quite nice."

"I am capable of keeping nice things, Dorian."

Solas reached for one last sheet of paper resting on the edge of his desk but quickly retracted his hand as he narrowly avoided getting it crushed beneath Dorian as the Tevinter hopped up and sat on directly on it.

Solas took a deep breath through his nose and clenched his fingers, watching the paper crinkle as Dorian made himself comfortable before finally noticing what he was sitting on.

"Oh, what's this?" Dorian tugged the paper out from under him and quickly scanned its contents.

Solas stomach clenched.

Again, he reminded himself, it's not as if Dorian was well versed in elven enough to decipher what was written on the parchment. And this particular note was not duty related, it was personal.

"Is this…a poem?" Amusement danced in Dorian's eyes as he turned his gaze on Solas, who was glaring at him, "A love poem, perhaps? Did you write this?"

Solas tried to snatch it back but Dorian anticipated the gesture and yanked out of his grasp.

"It is, isn't it? Has our humble apostate fallen in love? Writing sappy poems in elven to win the heart of some fair— "

"It is not a love poem, nor did I write it." His second attempt at swiping the parchment ended with success, and he folded the paper neatly and tucked it into the stack of papers on the edge of his desk. "It is a song, one I have heard throughout many memories during my travels in the Fade. I have been attempting to track its source. I thought writing the words down would give me more clarity on its meaning, and origin."

It was a half-truth.

It was a song he had heard numerous times in the fade, but he had first heard it while still in uthenera, tugging on the edge of his consciousness. It called to him though he could not place where the melody was coming from. It would appear in memories at random times—a pattern he could not decipher. Its haunting tune followed him after leaving uthenera too, invading his dreams when he least expected it. It was a pleasant distraction from the burdens of the waking world, though it sometimes drove him mad when he thought he was close to the source, the original memory, only to have it fade away into nothing but a chime as he would turn a corner or walk out of a forest.

And Wisdom had not been much of a help either. He sought his oldest, most dear friend's counsel quite frequently on the melody, but Wisdom had only given him cryptic replies. The slightest of smirks at his frustration, and ending their meetings by saying " _Patience, Pride_."

Wisdom knew something and was teasing him.

"I prefer the idea you were attempting to court someone with your poetic prose. But alas, have you found what you were searching for?"

"Not yet. But I feel as though I am close." Solas steepled his fingers as he rested against the back of his chair, giving his full attention back to Dorian. There were more important matters to discuss than haunting melodies and mysterious whispers of memories long forgotten in this moment.

"Your friend."

"Of course. We'll start with the basics, yes? And you can ask any specific questions after. Her name is Ellana Lavellan, formerly enslaved servant from House Antonius—one of the oldest, most influential Altus families in the Imperium. They hold a lot of power within the Magisterium and many other families, including my own, have vied for their favor. My father, in the hopes of sparking good relations with the heads of House Antonius, Magisters Cato and Calista respectively, sent me to the same boarding school as their son, Regulus."

Dorian paused for breath, considering his next words carefully.

"Imagine every horrid rumor you've heard about Tevinter Magisters."

Solas gave him an unamused stare.

"Now imagine it three times worse than what you can come up with and apply it Cato and Calista. They are charming vipers, cutthroat and ruthless in their pursuit of power, notorious blood mages and scheming…I could go on but I digress. I pitied Regulus, his parents expected so much of him, much like mine. We became fast friends, for he turned out to be nothing like his parents, except for maybe inheriting their charm. How he managed to retain his humanity was most likely large in part by Ellana." Dorian continued.

"How so?"

"She gave him companionship. He valued her opinion and grew very much attached to her. He was a lonely child, the sole heir of an entire prominent Estate and isolated from the world. He had no friends save for his texts, some of the serving staff and myself, until she came along. His parents pulled him from boarding school and got him private tutors because they felt the school was not meeting the standard they had envisioned for their son. I was permitted to visit, much the elation of my father, and on one of my visits I met Ellana."

"When did she become enslaved to this family."

"About twenty years ago. According to Regulus, they had gotten a new set of slaves to go with the additions being added to their estate, and one of the elven women would not part with a child, Ellana, so Regulus' parents bought them both. Ellana's attitude was…most difficult and Cato nearly had her executed for insubordination until Regulus intervened, pleading with his father to spare her life and let her be his servant, a playmate to keep him from being lonely. Calista sided with her son and of course two against one…. Ellana's life was spared. And as she matured she proved to be the...oh how did Cato phrase it, ' _the best investment he ever made_.' Ellana turned out to be the most efficient spy—Cato worked her thoroughly to gain an advantage over his potential rivals within the Imperium, though she would on rare occasion lash out at him for it—when he would involve other slaves in his machinations. And he…lashed back at her twofold for defying him, unfortunately."

Solas pursed his lips. He had a vivid enough imagination and enough experiences witnessing the torture of slaves to conjure exactly what this Magister might have done to one of his own that disobeyed his orders, or stood up to him.

He hated the man with a burning passion already.

"How did you come to be so close to her?" Solas queried, hoping his voice was calm enough not to betray the swirling storm of anger beneath his composed exterior. He wanted to sway the topic away of the brutal maltreatment that Dorian had been alluding to and prevent his stomach from painfully twisting any further.

"Well, I visited quite frequently during my adolescent years—and quite often in my young adulthood with Felix. Ellana was always present. And actually the first time I met her had been in a dream, I was thirteen. I had fallen asleep in Regulus' study waiting for him to return from a tutoring session and found myself nearly scared out of my mind when he suddenly appeared—in my dream. He made me promise—to swear on my life that I would breath a word of what he was about to tell me, it was to remain a secret." Dorian uncrossed and then re-crossed his legs, "Naturally, I had to know what he was keeping hidden so I agreed. And then Ellana appeared and literally reshaped my dream before my very eyes. He had kept her a secret from me, his best friend, for _years_ —that's how protective he is of her."

A distant expression flitted across Dorian's face as he remembered some unseen memory.

"The rest is history at that point. I was flabbergasted and intrigued and in awe all at the same time. After that, the three of us became very close. Messing around at formal functions—in between Ellana's spying of course, studying late into the night pouring over old tomes and absolutely butchering ancient forms of Tevene, finding new places to explore in the dreams Ellana would create. Sometimes, Regulus and I would take turns teaching her basic spells—not nearly as many as she deserved. She's got a sharp mind and she learned quickly. More importantly, we taught her ways to hide her aura from the other servants and of course, Regulus' parents."

"I am surprised they did not discover her sooner, if they truly are such powerful mages as you claim them to be." Solas stated skeptically.

"Oh it took a lot of Regulus warding them off her trail, blaming ambient magic laying around on himself practicing new spells. Even I covered for her a few times while I was there. We had to be so discreet. It's a miracle she lasted twenty years without being exposed, or worse, executed," Dorian shuddered, "And obviously now, Cato and Calista have discovered her secret."

"I wish we had more details about her escape, it would help us greatly if we knew the Magister's motivations, beyond him wanting his slave back. It cannot be that simple."

"The details of their discovery and her subsequent running I am not privy too—Ellana seemed too distraught to give a full story. I did not want to press her for more than she was comfortable with sharing. And she did promise to explain it all in person. But I do agree, there is more at play here than Ellana has led on."

Solas hummed an acknowledgement as he processed this new information.

Ellana was a gifted mage with little to no training—nor safe environment to do so for that matter—that happened to keep her talents hidden for nearly two decades within one of the most powerful families in Tevinter. That spoke miles of her abilities, and untapped potential. If she turned out to be as skilled as Dorian was claiming her to be, she might just turn out to be a powerful ally if he was able to directly train her.

"We must be cautious. You must meet with her again and gather more information. It will only aid us in our preparations against the force pursuing her."

"I plan on it, we briefly discussed meeting in a few nights if she could find me again—and when it would be safe for her to contact me. Whatever that means." Dorian brushed off his unease with a flourish of his hand.

"If I could arrange to meet her in the fade with you, I would be able to provide extra defenses and create a more stable, secure environment for further discussion." Solas mused.

"I would love to introduce you to her, as soon as possible. I, most unfortunately, do not possess the same ability as the two of you—which is why I sought you out. You might able to reach her first on your own—be able to help her in ways I was never able to."

There was no mistaking the chagrined tone inflected in his voice.

"I will if I can. It will be hard to find her dreaming mind in the fade not being acquainted with her aura, the dreaming world is vast and ever changing, and so easy to lose track of someone or something you are searching for without a signal to navigate towards. Even for the most experienced dreamers, finding another spirit in that realm can prove to be a difficult task. And if I did make contact, I would not want to frighten her. She might mistake my presence for—

"A demon."

"— _a powerful spirit_." Solas corrected him, "They are one in the same."

"As you have tried to lecture me before."

Solas ignored the comment.

"I will reach out to you in the fade tonight, if you would permit it. We might have to wait for her to make contact with you first if I cannot locate her on my own."

"That is fine by me," Dorian agreed, "I don't know when exactly she will reach out again. But if she does at least you'll be there."

More guilt rolled off Dorian in palatable waves, impossible to ignore.

"You are doing the right thing by extending your help to her now." Solas offered quietly after a few moments of silence.

"I know. Looking back…there was just so much more I could have done. And I didn't realize it."

"You are doing your best to rectify that now. It is this moment that makes the difference."

"You are right," Dorian sighed, "Don't let that go to your head."

"I will refrain from gloating." Solas quipped dryly, "Who else will be accompanying us on this rescue mission?"

"Jacques is most definitely going to ask Vivienne and Cassandra to accompany him, along with his advisors. And I think he is contemplating bringing Warden Blackwall as well—apparently a Warden will earn you favors in Val Royeaux or something of that nature. So besides you, I will be asking the rest of the inner circle, Varric, Bull, and Sera. Cole will most likely come regardless if I invite him or not."

Solas would have felt more at ease if Cassandra had been in their party but as a Seeker she would hold rank over the Templars and be an invaluable asset for Trevelyan's mission to Orlais. The Seeker and Dorian, and unmistakably Cole, were among the select few people within the Inquisition he could tolerate. More than tolerate even. Respect.

At least he would have Cole.

"Did you have any more questions for me regarding Ellana, or am I free to leave and pretend I was never in your bed chambers in this state of dress. What will people think."

"For now, no. I will think on the details you have given me. If I have anymore inquiries, I will seek you out." Solas gave a curt nod towards the door and continued to mull over this new information as Dorian instantly excused himself from his quarters.

Solas reinstated the wards with another lazy flick of his wrist as the door shut with an audible click. His mind was racing. This news had shaken his whole perception of the world as he had come to know it. There was so much at stake and yet here he was considering waylaying his plans for runaway slave.

It had not been the first time something like this sidetracked his intentions. History had an odd way of repeating itself.

His eyes roamed back to his bedside drawer where the missive from his agent lay waiting for his translation. There was a lot left to do before he departed from Skyhold.

And in so very little time.


End file.
